>>5604281>>5604284>>5604308>>5604333>>5604451>Pass through the festive street. Look for a mask to purchase.>Have Morne (who won't exactly be able to hide behind a mask) take the back alleys>Bring the hag with you“We’ll pass through the festivities. Why not? It’s not too busy yet.” You observe the street–delicious odors wafting from cooking food, the uncorking and pouring out of drink, a few vendors setting up masks and trinkets to sell. “Maybe you should take the back-alleys though, Morne. I don’t think that snout will fit a mask.”
“I don’t think that will pose a problem.” Morne waves toward the street again. “Look.”
You look down the road again, a bit more sharp in the eye. A handful of stallgoers’ flesh seem to curdle beneath their masks. A few cooks over their fires look far too thin and boney. A mound of fur down the road moves. You, in fact, seem to have fallen in with monsters.
“Quartier de Punition is for punishing the run-off and excising the fat. Almost all humans, I hear. Quartier de Devotion is the proper village, and it plays host to monster and human acolytes alike. Sex and drink and parties and feasts. We’ll fit in fine.” Morne begins to amble forward. “Just don’t stare too much. You’re drooling.”
You wipe the trail of spit from your mouth and begin to step along after the wolf. But a strange, cloying feeling in your gut draws you to a halt.
You glance back over your shoulder to nothing and nobody. You could’ve sworn you just saw something undulating in the corner of your vision–a strange, unnerving feeling of eyes on your back. You shake it off–probably just someone staring at your ass–and continue forward with renewed vigor in your step into the QUARTIER DE DEVOTION.
